Pinching the bridge of her nose, Serena struggled to get hold of her emotions. “You are right. I apologize. I was overset.” She collapsed into the chair she’d so recently vacated. “But do you have feelings for Ivy, or is this something you are doing out of honor? For I will not force the girl into a loveless marriage. Especially when the only people who know that you were even alone with her are the two of you.”
He knew all too well what Serena’s own marriage had been like, and while he understood her desire to shield Ivy from such a union, he also was a little offended that she would put him in the same category as Fanning. He certainly had never raised his hand to a woman as that monster had done.
“I am not Fanning,” he said, trying not to let his hurt color his voice. “And though I do not claim to love Miss Wareham, there is a certain affinity between us that I think might grow into something deeper.”
At his denial, Serena reached out and touched him on the arm. “I am sorry, Quill. I know you are cut from a different cloth entirely. I just…” she paused, as if searching for the right words.
“You don’t have to explain,” he said gently. “I understand. Truly. And you needn’t worry. I promise to treat her well.”
“I know you will,” she said with a smile. “Of course you will. I am being silly.”
“You are being a mother hen, which is exactly why Aunt Celeste chose you to chaperone her girls,” Quill said with an answering smile. “She knew what she was about.”
At the mention of Celeste, Serena’s eyes softened. “She did, didn’t she. Though I doubt even she could have predicted that Ivy would fall prey to your charms so soon into her residence.”
Quill laughed. “No, though she did tell me once that my charm would be my undoing. I daresay this is as swift a comeuppance as she’d have wished.”
“Will you ride to Oxford tomorrow to speak to Ivy’s father?” Serena asked, already thinking ahead to all the tasks necessary for seeing her charge settled.
At her query, Quill smiled sheepishly. “If I were pleasing myself, that is indeed what I’d do tomorrow. But I have agreed to give Ivy a few days to make up her mind about things.”
Serena’s brows drew together. “What is there to decide upon? She is compromised. You must marry.”
He could not help but say, “Just a moment ago you were vowing to save her from a loveless marriage.”
“But that was before I realized whom I was speaking of,” Serena said with a wave of her hand.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Quill asked, not quite sure he wished to hear her response.
“Come, Quill,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “When have you ever done anything that you didn’t wish to do? Ever? I certainly cannot think of anything.”
“You make me sound like a very selfish fellow,” he said stiffly.
“No,” she said, “quite the opposite, in fact. You are generous to a fault because it pleases you to please others. But you are hardly someone who does things out of only propriety. If not following the rules will make someone unhappy, then you will follow them. But if no one would be the wiser, you do what you want.”
“And?”
“And, no one but you and Ivy knew about your afternoon together, yet you sought me out to tell me you intended to marry her,” Serena said with a triumphant grin. “A man who did not wish to marry Ivy would have kept his mouth shut and prayed no one ever found out.”
Which was likely true. He would not ruin his cousin’s impression of his romantic nature by telling her that he’d chosen to tell her because he might need an ally should Ivy prove recalcitrant when it came to accepting his proposal. And that far from asking for Ivy’s hand out of affection, though he did feel fond of her, it was the fact that she might be carrying his child that made him reveal their tryst to his cousin. Because he would not allow his child to be born out of wedlock.
Keeping his own counsel on the matter, he said instead, “You seem to know me better than I know myself, cousin.”
“Of course I do,” she said, beaming. “Now, I will say that I think it is a mistake to give Ivy too much time to think this over. But you must make up your mind I suppose.”
“I thank you for your permission,” Quill said. “Most kind.”
“If that is all,” Serena said with a speaking look, “I need to finish going over the accounts with Mrs. Bacon.”
Knowing when he’d been dismissed, Quill took his leave of her and went in search of Aunt Celeste’s brandy bottle.
Chapter 17
Ivy awoke some hours later and for a split second had no idea where she was, what time it was, or why she felt so oddly sore.
Closing her eyes again, the events of earlier in the day came rushing back in a flood of memory and awareness and for a breath she could feel Quill’s weight pressing down upon her again, could smell his sandalwood and clean male scent.
This would not do at all.
She’d never been one to wallow in her emotions, and one morning’s passion was hardly reason to begin now. Yes, Quill was a handsome man, and he had been all that she could have wished for in a lover. Of course she had no one to compare him to, but she had found their encounter pleasurable enough. Certainly she understood now why so many of the women in the reformatory she worked with back in Oxford fell prey to such desires. It had been a heady feeling indeed to share that nearness, that vulnerability with him.
But thankfully, Quill had agreed to give her time to decide if it warranted a betrothal. She was well aware that a man so accustomed to having his own way in everything did not generally have the inclination to grant such a demand. That Quill had done so spoke to the inherent fairness in his nature. A sign, no doubt, that he would perhaps make for an agreeable husband.
Still, she was not going to spend every waking moment between now and two days from now thinking only of what she should do.
She’d learned long ago that the mind had a way of working things out while one did other things. And the “other thing” that was most important at the moment was discovering who had so callously murdered Lady Celeste. A woman who, as far as Ivy could tell, had never harmed anyone in her life and should be alive and well to share the finer points of her impressive collection of books and artifacts with the four young women she had chosen to share them with.
Tossing back the covers, she reached for the bell pull to summon Polly and was soon dressed for dinner.
“There, miss,” said Polly, putting the finishing touches on Ivy’s upswept hair. “The gentlemen won’t know what hit them.”
Staring at her reflection in the glass of the dressing table, Ivy had to admit that she was looking well. She would miss Polly’s skill with a hairpin when she returned to Oxford. If she returned to Oxford, she amended, trying to accustom herself to the notion with some difficulty. Which surprised her given her eagerness to escape the little house where she’d shared a single maid with five sisters. Perhaps Pope was right and familiarity did breed contempt.
Then, Polly’s words filtered through.
“Gentlemen?” she asked, turning to face the maid. “Has someone else arrived besides Lord Kerr?”
And to her surprise Polly blushed. “Oh, yes, miss. Lady Serena’s brother, the Duke of Maitland, arrived in his high perch phaeton while you were sleeping.”
“His grace is handsome, then?” Ivy asked with a teasing smile. It was amusing to see the serious maid all atwitter. Clearly, Ivy thought wryly, Polly was impressed with the duke.
“It is impertinent for me to say so, miss,” Polly said with a grin, “but, yes. Quite handsome. And dashing.”
“And dashing,” Ivy repeated. She supposed high perch phaetons were rare in this part of the country, but clearly the Duke of Maitland was something out of the ordinary to make Polly grin like a lunatic.
“Then I suppose I’d best make my way downstairs to see this paragon for myself,” she said rising. She wished suddenly she’d been able to bring a better evening gown with her. She kne
w the deep green silk was striking with her hair and eyes, but it was hardly as fine as anything Daphne or the Hastings sisters had. When she packed her things to travel to the south coast, she’d assumed she would spend most evenings with her fellow scholars. If she’d known she would be rubbing shoulders with dukes and marquesses, she’d have been more careful about what she brought.
As a general rule she wasn’t overly concerned with fashion, but she had no wish to look a dowd either.
Quill hadn’t seemed to notice, and if he did mind, he’d simply have to come to terms with it, she thought grimly. She might wish for finery on occasion, but in this instance he would have to take her as she was. Outmoded gown and all.
“You’re as fine as five pence, miss,” Polly said to her as she opened the door into the hall for Ivy. “The duke won’t be able to look away,” she said in a conspiratorial tone.
But Ivy was more concerned with the gaze of a certain marquess.
When she reached the first landing, where a tall clock ticked away the minutes, she realized she was a few minutes early. On impulse, when she reached the first landing she kept going to the ground floor and made her way into the servants’ hall.
If Dr. Vance’s assertion that Lady Celeste’s maid had brewed herbal tisanes for her mistress was correct, then the cook must have seen her doing so.
* * *
As soon as she stepped into the kitchen, however, she realized that it was not the best time to question the cook or any of the upper servants who would be involved in serving dinner. The room was a beehive of activity, but as soon as Mrs. Mason saw her, she set down the heavy tureen she carried and bowed.
“Miss Wareham,” she said with a curtsy. And everyone else, from kitchen maid to Greaves, the butler, bowed or curtsied.
“Is there something you need, miss?” Greaves asked with formality.
“I am sorry,” Ivy said with a shake of her head. “I’ve come at a bad time. I’ll return later when you aren’t so busy. Though I must say, this smells so delicious I look forward to sampling it at dinner.”
Turning, she saw Mrs. Bacon standing behind her. Before the lady could curtsy, Ivy stepped forward and said, “Mrs. Bacon, will you walk with me a little?”
Not betraying a hint of surprise or question, the housekeeper nodded and walked beside Ivy toward the terminus of the servant’s hall in the front entrance of the house.
“I was hoping you might be able to tell me where Lady Celeste’s personal maid went after her ladyship died,” Ivy said without preamble. She did not elaborate on why she might want such information, but Mrs. Bacon didn’t seem to think it an odd question. Or if she did she did not say so.
“Elsie was able to secure a place as maid to Squire Northman’s wife, miss,” said Mrs. Bacon. “Mrs. Northman is a bit of a social climber, if you don’t mind my saying so, miss. And I suspect she was quite pleased with herself to steal away Elsie from Beauchamp House. Even if there was no longer a lady here for Elsie to serve once poor Lady Celeste died. Lady Serena brought her own maid, you see and there was no call for Elsie anymore. So it was a good move for her. A step down, if you ask me. Her family is from around here, though, so she was pleased to keep a situation in the same neighborhood.”
It was far more than Ivy had expected from the taciturn housekeeper. And learning that Elsie was nearby was good news, indeed, since she wished to ask her about the tisanes the maid had brewed for her mistress. There were few people who controlled what a lady consumed on a daily basis more influential than a maid. From her morning chocolate to her hot milk before bed, a maid brought everything but meals served at table to a lady. It would be difficult to poison meals as a maid because a maid had no reason to go near the meals. But things served in the bedchamber were another story.
“Thank you so much, Mrs. Bacon. You have been most helpful. I had heard that Elsie was quite enterprising when it came to concocting medicinal tisanes for Lady Celeste’s headaches. I was hoping to get the recipe.”
At that the housekeeper sniffed. “I’m not sure she’ll deign to give it to you, miss,” she said tartly. “She was quite secretive about those tisanes of hers was Elsie. Wouldn’t give the recipe to any of us, that’s for certain.”
Interesting, Ivy thought. Now she was even more eager to speak to Elsie.
Before she could take her leave of the housekeeper, Mrs. Bacon said with some diffidence, “I heard about what happened in the village yesterday, Miss Wareham.”
For one brief moment, Ivy thought she was speaking of the interlude in the cottage and felt a jolt of real fear run down her spine. But Mrs. Bacon’s next words made her sag with relief. “Yes, his lordship told one of the grooms about the runaway cart on the road back from Little Seaford. I am glad neither of you was hurt, Miss. I don’t know what this world is coming to with such reckless drivers on the roads at all hours.”
Touched by the normally starchy woman’s genuine concern, Ivy thanked her.
Just then, they reached the front hall. Bidding the housekeeper good evening, Ivy headed back upstairs toward the drawing room where the household gathered before dinner. She was almost to the doorway, and deep in thought, when she collided with a hard male chest.
“Oh, I do apologize,” she said as the gentleman reached out to grasp her by the shoulders. Looking up, and then up again, into a pair of twinkling gray eyes, she surmised that this must be the Duke of Maitland who had set Polly’s heart aflutter.
“The fault is all mine, my dear girl,” said the duke with a sweeping bow. “I am forever tripping over these feet of mine. They’re quite large as you can see, and if they didn’t get me from one place to another I’d get rid of them all together.”
“That would be quite inconvenient, I would imagine,” Ivy said wryly in response to this absurdity.
“I daresay you are right,” he said easily as he walked beside her into the drawing room where the rest of the house was already gathered.
Before Ivy could step over to where the other bluestockings were chatting, the man beside her addressed Lady Serena who was in conversation with Quill.
“Serena, you must introduce me to this beautiful creature at once,” the duke said to his sister. “For I nearly knocked her down just now and a proper apology demands a proper name, doesn’t it?”
Ivy was quick to note Quill’s scowl at the other man, and the way he looked from Ivy to the duke and back again.
Lady Serena, however, seemed accustomed to her brother’s odd manners, and as Ivy and the duke stepped closer to them she said, “Dalton, I vow you are the clumsiest man I’ve ever met. And that includes Father who fell off his own horse I don’t know how many times.”
The duke shrugged, as if to ask what one could do.
“This creature, as you so suavely call her,” Lady Serena continued, “is Miss Ivy Wareham, one of the four lady scholars Aunt invited to Beauchamp House upon her death.”
If looks could kill, the one Quill was leveling at the Duke of Maitland would have felled the fellow in a second.
“Ivy,” the duke sighed. “What a prosaic name for such a lovely lady,” he said as he bowed over her hand.
“Her actual name is Aphrodite,” said Lady Daphne who had wandered over along with the other ladies as if the duke were a flame and they the moths. “Which is much more fitting if you ask me.”
Before Ivy could respond, however, she watched as the duke got his first glimpse of Daphne. If his response to her had been that of a puppy eager for a treat, the look he gave the willowy blonde was as full of heat as anything she’d ever seen before. And if she didn’t miss her guess, Daphne was not exactly giving him the cold shoulder.
Rolling her eyes, Serena made the introductions of the three ladies, and though the duke was polite to all of them, there was a little something more in his bow over Daphne’s hand. As if he were making an offering to the goddess she was named for.
Ivy, on the other hand, was not as impressed with him as Daphne seemed to be. He was hand
some, she supposed. If one were attracted to blond giants with aquiline features. She found she much preferred a certain marquess with blue eyes that could burn cold or hot as his mood changed, with a tendency toward seriousness. A humorous man like the duke would wear on her nerves after a bit, she suspected.
Just then the dinner bell rang and Quill took her arm, despite the fact that the order of precedence indicated he should be taking in Lady Serena—Daphne, of course, was on the arm of the duke.
“It’s a good thing he fixed his eye on Daphne,” Quill said in an undertone, “else I’d have been forced to call out my own cousin.”
The rumble of his voice was enough to raise the hairs on the back of Ivy’s neck in response. “I’m not so sure Daphne is such a good idea, either,” she answered as he reached for her chair.
“I don’t really care just now,” Quill said ruthlessly. “So long he keeps his paws off you.”
The look he gave was one that sent a thrill through her, and Ivy was forced to steel herself against the magnetic pull he exerted on her.
This was certainly not the sort of thing her mother would approve of for the dining table. Or at all. Ever.
Before she could reprimand the marquess however, he was taking his own seat beside her and chatting amiably with Serena on his left.
Chapter 18
Quill bit back a sigh as yet another peal of laughter rang out at some quip from his cousin. He was fond of Maitland—indeed counted the duke as one of his best friends in the world—but his easy way with the ladies was something he’d always envied. And while he waited for Ivy to make up her mind about his proposal, he was hardly eager to have Maitland, with his good looks and charm, lure her away. Though Ivy was showing no signs of attraction for the other man now, he hadn’t known her long enough to assess whether she could be persuaded if Maitland got it in his head to woo her.
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